


Diplomatic Relations

by kathryne



Category: Sanctuary (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-13
Updated: 2012-02-13
Packaged: 2017-10-31 02:31:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/338909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kathryne/pseuds/kathryne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Missing scene from 3x11, "Pax Romana."  Following Worth's disappearance, Helen and Ranna take the first steps towards what may be a mutually beneficial future partnership.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Diplomatic Relations

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sophiagratia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sophiagratia/gifts).



> Written as part of halfamoon 2012. And, because I think it's important to celebrate not just the women we fangirl about but the ones we fangirl with: for Sophie Grace, for supporting my dorkiness both fannish and academic. ;) 
> 
> Many thanks to Oparu for beta duties.

The sight of John's signature, scrawled in blood that may or may not be Adam's, is nauseating. Helen takes an instinctive step back, staggering slightly; not until Ranna's hand closes over her shoulder does she realize that it's not her shaking, but the entire chamber.

Ranna's fingers claw into Helen's flesh, her grip just short of painful, and Helen looks at her to find the same wild ecstasy in her eyes that characterized Will's communications with Kali. "Kanaan," she breathes, confirming Helen's suspicions. "He is venting the magma." She is lost in herself a moment longer, then the persona of the Praxis leader falls over her like a protective shield. "The tremors will intensify shortly," she snaps. "We must get to shelter in the meantime."

As if in agreement, the ceiling shivers, and Helen watches as John's message to her is obscured by a cloud of grit. Will darts forward and grabs the antimatter device and then they're all moving, jogging through the subterranean corridors while the world shifts around them. The tremors are constant now, but less violent than before. Rather than things being torn apart, Helen fancies she can feel a sense of rightness reasserting itself – though no less dangerous for all that, she thinks as a chunk of rock the size of a football misses her by inches.

They burst onto the deserted streets and Ranna halts them at the entrance to the command centre. "Take that to Toland," she says, gesturing at the device. "He'll ensure it's intact."

"And Henry," Helen says, meeting Ranna's eyes steadily. 

She needn't remind Ranna of Fallon's recent treachery; Ranna breaks the gaze and nods. "Give Henry full access," she adds. "Now go."

The Praxians turn immediately and Kate follows, but Will hesitates. "Magnus?" he asks softly, looking pointedly at Ranna.

"Helen and I have matters to discuss in private," Ranna says, but Helen hears her voice tremble under the haughtiness.

"Go on, Will. I'll be fine," Helen says. He turns slowly, but she doesn't wait to see him off; Ranna is already halfway across the street and Helen follows, skirting around piles of rubble.

Ranna unlocks a door and ushers Helen into a room so sumptuously decorated that it immediately reminds her of the state of her appearance: sweaty from running through the tunnels, coated in rock dust, and smeared to the armpit with necrotic abnormal tissue that is still faintly sticky between her fingers. Next instant, though, all of that is once more forgotten as Ranna shuts the door behind them and falls heavily against it.

"Ranna!" Helen gets her arms around the other woman, preventing her from slumping to the ground. "Are you all right?" Was she hit by falling rock? Injured? Helen holds Ranna to her with one arm and runs the other hand over her head and neck, checking for contusions or abrasions.

"No, don't, it's – I'm fine," Ranna says, her voice quiet but firm. She stands up straight but doesn't pull away, allowing Helen to support her across the room to the sofa. She leans back into the plush cushions, hair spilling across fabric the colour of the magma that seethes tens of kilometres under their feet. The entire room is decorated in intense, rich reds and oranges, almost overwhelming, and Helen wonders whether this is to Ranna's taste or the result of her bond with Kanaan.

Helen crouches in front of Ranna and places two fingers under her jawline, feeling for her pulse. It's strong and steady and Ranna's eyelashes flutter open at the touch. "I'm fine," she repeats, capturing Helen's hand in both of hers and drawing it away. "My connection with Kanaan – having him back at full strength after so long is rather intense."

Helen smiles and pats their clasped hands where they rest on Ranna's knee. "I can imagine," she says kindly. Thinking back to Will's experiences with Kali, she's amazed Ranna isn't comatose right now. "It must have been very hard for you when he was ill."

"When he was ill, yes." A tremor shakes the room. "Harder, now that he is so active. And so... emotional." Ranna stands, staggering only slightly. 

"He's glad to be back, I assume." Helen stands too, digging her fists into the ache at the small of her back.

Ranna's lips twitch in what is almost a smile. "And he has some words for me. We both owe you a great deal. But first, tea? The tremors will continue for some time."

"Dear God, yes." Helen follows Ranna into the kitchen with alacrity. "You can get proper tea down here? How?"

"I insist on it," Ranna says with - yes, that is a real smile, as she runs water to warm the pot and scoops leaves into a strainer. "What's life without its niceties, after all?"

"I wholeheartedly agree." Helen should be used to strange circumstances, but somehow, standing in the kitchen of a woman who had her executed earlier, whose life she saved, and who is now making her a pot of tea with all due ritual, disconcerts even her. The weight of domesticity presses down upon them, and Helen takes the tea back to the sitting room with gratitude.

Ranna perches on the other end of the couch, back straight as if she's never experienced a moment of weakness in her life, so perfectly in tune with the tremors that shake the room that she doesn't waste a drop of tea. Helen wipes another spill off the side of her hands onto her trousers - they're beyond help already - and summons a smile, determined to learn what she can while Ranna seems willing to talk. "Does venting the magma always provoke this much seismic activity?" she asks, opening with a soft question to pave the way for future revelations.

"Yes. The city was built to withstand it; it's only the debris that's a threat, and that mostly to the populace, not the buildings." Ranna sips her tea, though it is still too hot for Helen's liking. "Usually the tremors are briefer and less intense, but with so much more pressure having built up, and Kanaan not back at full strength, we thought it better to be... cautious."

"Your connection to him must be very deep, to allow you so much influence over his actions," Helen dares. Will had needed to petition Kali each time he sought a favour. With Ranna and Kanaan, though, it seems more like a conversation.

"Influence is hardly the word," Ranna says. "Input, perhaps. He deigns to consider what I have to say."

"First the tidal wave, and now this? More than that, I should think." The tea is excellent, with a spicy undertone unlike anything Helen has tasted on the surface. She puts the cup down with difficulty, not because it is so good but because the film of viscera on her hand is becoming unbearably tacky.

"Neither of us had any interest in perpetuating the destruction we see on the surface. And as for now, well, as I said, we owe you a great deal. It seemed impolite to repay you by allowing the caves to collapse on top of your team." Ranna sets her tea aside and rises. "And even poorer recompense to let you sit there any longer stinking of Kanaan's innards. Come." She holds a hand out, her skin nearly as dirty as Helen's. Helen takes it without any hesitation.

Ranna's private bath is as elegant as Helen would have expected given the hedonism characterizing her other rooms, yet far more welcoming. The fire theme stops at the door, giving way to russets and ochres that feel more organic and much less threatening. Helen feels something at the back of her neck relax as Ranna lets go of her hand to run water into the washbasin.

"Kanaan and I both owe you our lives." Ranna says, soaking a washcloth in the steaming water and reaching up to wipe the dirt off of Helen's face. Helen startles at the touch, but the heat is welcome; she subsides into it, hissing as the cloth finds cuts she hadn't realized were there. "Moreover," Ranna adds, rinsing the cloth out and running it over the sensitive skin of Helen's neck, "I owe you an apology on my own account."

"What, for killing me?" Helen asks wryly. She can't summon any real animosity, not with the soothing motions of the rough washcloth easing the tension she has been carrying all day.

"And for misjudging you so that I felt executing you was necessary. I should have known better; I should have known you would be your father's daughter." Ranna takes up Helen's hand, the one that drew the tracknoid out of Kanaan, and begins sponging the blood and other fluids away. Helen's skin tingles more than the heat of the water should account for. "I am sorry," Ranna says, looking up at Helen. Her face is less guarded than Helen has yet seen it, sincerity stamped across her features.

"Forgiven," Helen says, forcing her tone to remain light. "I could wish that everyone who tried to kill me had the decency to apologise after." Ranna's attentions have reached her wrist, and the cloth curls around the base of her hand like a caress. Ranna tries to push the sleeve of Helen's jumpsuit out of the way; it slides off her skin with a sucking sound, and they both wince.

"You're too kind," Ranna says, her voice sharp as she reaches for the fastening at the neck of Helen's suit. Helen grabs her hand, holding it suspended in mid-air.

Ranna's hand is warm; her fingers, like the washcloth, trace the same path over damp skin. "Why are you..." Helen asks, uncertain what explanation she seeks.

"Because it's necessary," Ranna says cryptically. She hasn't actually answered any of the myriad questions Helen has, but Helen releases her hand nevertheless, letting it complete its journey. 

Ranna unfastens the buckle holding the suit's high neck closed, then draws the tab of the zipper downwards over Helen's torso. She peels Helen out of the top of the suit and lets it drop to the floor, leaving her in a black tank top. The cool air prickles across her bare skin. Picking up the cloth, Ranna runs it over Helen's collarbones and down her arm; Helen shivers as the water trickles between her breasts.

"Thank you for saving my life," Ranna says, the washcloth rasping over the sensitive skin of Helen's inner arm. She doesn't look up, focusing instead on dipping the cloth, wringing it out, reapplying herself to her task. Helen can see her face in the mirror, though; it is tight with repressed emotion.

"In the caverns? I told you, peace and harmony and all that," Helen says quietly. Ranna releases one arm and starts on the next, and Helen brings her clean hand up, hovering in the air for a moment before settling it on Ranna's shoulder.

"Not that," Ranna says, and then, feeling Helen stiffen, "or not only that. But by saving Kanaan, you saved me as well, for if he had died, the loss of the bond would have killed me." She glances up at Helen through thick lashes. "Surely you were aware of the strength of the attachment between us?" The rumble of falling rocks filters through the walls as if in reminder.

Helen swallows, taken aback. She knew, of course, that the communication between super-abnormal and human built an intense connection. The trauma that Will went through to petition Kali taught her that. But between the immediacy of Adam's treachery and the threat of the magma build-up, it didn't occur to her that she was fighting for Ranna's life too.

She thinks of Ranna in the tunnels, her combat reflexes just a second behind; thinks of her crouching unsteadily on Kanaan's back and watching Helen dig for the tracknoid, never once referring to the danger to herself. She didn't mention her own vulnerabilities: why? Helen remembers the surprise on Ranna's face when Helen saved her from the magma, and suddenly, she understands.

She grasps Ranna's upper arms tightly; Ranna looks at her, surprised. "If I had known," Helen says urgently, "I would have worked all the harder. I would _not_ have let you die, no matter what."

Ranna looks as if she can't quite dare to believe that Helen is speaking the truth. "You would have been well within your rights to take your revenge," she whispers.

"Certainly not." Helen shivers at the thinly-veiled brutality that Ranna's words suggest. Must even the most advanced societies always struggle with the baser side of human nature? The thought makes her feel tired, suddenly, and old. She smoothes a curl away from Ranna's eyes and uses her thumb to wipe at a smudge of dirt on her brow. "All life is precious, Ranna."

"Not as far as the Senate is concerned." Ranna leans into Helen's touch, her eyes shutting momentarily. "They were determined to be rid of you. I never could have brought you back if I hadn't done it in secret."

"I'm rather glad you did," Helen says, and kisses Ranna.

She means it as a sort of absolution, a nod to the traumas they've both been through in the past hours, but there is nothing gentle in the way they come together. Ranna surges up on her toes to meet Helen's lips, winding one hand around her waist to pull them closer, and Helen buries her fingers in Ranna's hair. She pulls it free from the remnants of its ties, tugging at it to draw Ranna's face to the right angle.

Ranna's mouth opens in a moan and Helen takes advantage, sinking her teeth into Ranna's full bottom lip with just slightly more pressure than she intended. Ranna shivers against her and Helen flushes, adrenaline and desire rushing through her. She draws Ranna's head further back and bites at her neck, tasting salt and fear and need, but also dust and rock. Helen fumbles for the washcloth, intending to take her turn at cleaning away the grime of the day's battles, but Ranna stops her.

"No," Ranna says, letting the cloth fall to the floor, and smiles. "That will take too long, and I'm in no mood to wait tonight." Her fingers curl under Helen's waistband in illustration.

Helen sways into the touch, but draws back before Ranna can kiss her again. She holds up her hand, which Ranna had so painstakingly cleaned earlier; it is covered again in a light layer of dust from combing through Ranna's hair. "Even having just come back from the dead, I do insist on a few niceties being observed," she says drily, echoing Ranna's earlier phrasing.

Ranna smiles wickedly and Helen's stomach twists. "I believe I can accommodate that," Ranna says. She steps forward and Helen turns, seeing the rest of the room that she hadn't previously noticed. The far side is dominated by a large enclosure, walled in by what Helen suspects is smoky quartz. Ranna unlatches the door and taps a panel inside, and the sound of gentle rain immediately fills the room. Steam billows from the door almost instantly and Helen smirks as she realizes the entire space is a giant shower room.

"Nicety enough?" Ranna asks, unsnapping the neck of her top and beginning to draw the zipper down.

"Oh, yes," Helen says. Stepping forward, she pushes Ranna's hands away gently and takes over the task.

They undress each other, touching freely but, mindful of dirt, not stopping to taste. Helen's anticipation grows more acute the longer she is denied. She scrapes a nail over Ranna's nipple, feeling her shudder, and wants to soothe the tiny hurt with her tongue. Ranna's fingers map the curve of Helen's hipbones, and she aches to twine her hands in Ranna's hair and force her down on her knees. Even the short time it takes them to strip is deliciously torturous.

Finally they are naked, and Ranna draws Helen under the gently falling water. The door swings shut behind them.

Helen looks up in amazement. The water pours from the ceiling, heated, no doubt, by the abundant geo-thermal energy that powers the city. There is a faint, not unpleasant mineral scent to the humid air; it reminds Helen of taking the waters at Bath. She laughs in delight, raising cupped hands and letting the water pour over her sensitized skin like a caress.

"I take it you approve," Ranna says, and Helen turns to grin at her. 

The water plasters Ranna's hair sleekly to her skull and she looks like a selkie, risen from the deep. Helen draws her hands along the slick skin of Ranna's upper arms, across her shoulders and under the warm weight of her hair, cups her face, and kisses her. The water beats down on them relentlessly and Ranna presses herself against Helen's body, their flesh sliding together. She gasps into Helen's mouth as one of Helen's hands trails over her neck and down to her breast, circling her nipple; the tension coiled in her melts and she sways, pliant in Helen's arms.

Helen breaks the kiss, her heart racing, and twists, looking for the soap. Ranna sees her look and smiles. Reaching behind them, she takes a small stone bottle from an unobtrusive recess. She removes the stopper and the scent of honey fills the space, rich and sensual; Helen gasps despite herself.

Ranna laughs, pouring dark liquid into one hand and then recapping the bottle. Setting it aside, she advances on Helen, rubbing her hands together so the lather foams up between them, perfuming the air. Helen breathes deeply and closes her eyes as Ranna begins to touch her. She is gentle at first, deliberate, hands passing over tender skin with a clinical touch and smoothing away dirt and sweat. The honey scent grows stronger and Helen sways. Her eyes flutter open and catch on Ranna's amused gaze.

"Don't fall," Ranna says, pouring more soap into her palms.

Helen shakes her head and settles her hands on Ranna's hips, steadying herself. "I won't," she answered.

Ranna reaches up and spreads the lather into Helen's hair, the tips of her fingers rubbing strong circles against Helen's scalp. Aches Helen hasn't been fully aware of tighten and relax, sending tingles of released pain spinning along her nerves: her shoulders, where she'd hung in the execution chamber; her back, where she'd bent over the incision in Kanaan's flesh; her legs, where she'd scrambled through the tunnels – they all hum with well-being under Ranna's care.

Releasing Ranna, she takes a step away and tilts her head back, letting the water wash the last of the soapsuds from her hair and body. She runs her hands through her hair and over her clean skin, then grins at Ranna. "My turn," she says simply, reaching for the bottle.

"As you say," Ranna replies, ducking her head in fake modesty.

Helen pauses, then circles Ranna, kneeling behind her and running slippery hands over the muscles of her calves. Ranna shivers, widening her stance and reaching one hand out to the wall for balance. Helen hums in amusement and works her way up Ranna's body. Her touch is not so impersonal; she rolls her knuckles across the thin skin behind Ranna's knees and scratches her nails lightly over the gentle curve of Ranna's belly. Ranna's breath catches in her throat and Helen rises to her feet.

More soap, and she digs her thumbs hard into the muscles at the base of Ranna's skull, relishing the resistance that dissolves into acceptance. She massages the lather through Ranna's hair and lets it rinse out, then slides her hands, still slick with the last of the bubbles, down to cup Ranna's breasts.

Ranna rests her head against Helen's shoulder, and Helen leans down and kisses her. Ranna bends her back in a graceful arch, raising one arm to cradle Helen's head, and Helen draws her fingers over Ranna's skin, paying close attention to those spots that make Ranna gasp and whimper. "Gorgeous," Helen whispers, tracing the generous vee of Ranna's cleavage and the soft swell of her hips, and Ranna squirms against her. She slides one hand lower, teasing between Ranna's legs, and Ranna quivers beneath her touch.

After a moment, though, Ranna breaks away, turning on Helen and backing her against the wall. "Not yet," she says, breathing hard. "You've done enough for today. Let me." She twines her fingers with Helen's and flattens Helen's palms against the wall, holding them firm. "For now, let me."

Helen tenses, hands curling into fists; then she looks down into Ranna's face, strong and marked with years of a command of her own, and softens. With a sigh, she nods, spreading her hands against the rough stone of the wall.

Ranna smiles in lazy approval and kneels gracefully, looking up over Helen's body from under her lashes. Helen meets her gaze boldly, aware of the picture she presents, shoulders back against the wall and breasts outthrust. She dips her head in invitation, but still Ranna sits motionless, watching the water stream across Helen's flesh. The longer they keep silent, the more Helen focuses on the drops hitting her body, until she feels each rivulet like the touch Ranna is denying her. Her hands flex and her hips shift of their own accord.

"Ranna," she whispers. "Please."

Ranna smiles and leans in, cupping Helen's buttocks and urging her forwards, opening her. Helen groans at the first touch of Ranna's tongue, letting her head loll back against the wall.

The scent of honey rises dizzyingly and Ranna's hands are the only solid point in a trembling, liquid world. Ranna teases, drawing arcane patterns against Helen's sensitive flesh with the very tip of her tongue, until Helen aches to pull Ranna close and grind against her. She shifts one hand, ready to reach out, and Ranna stops, sitting back on her heels.

Helen cries out, unbalanced. "Ranna, don't, please." She swallows against the desire thickening her throat. "I'm – I need – "

"I know," Ranna says soothingly, pressing a kiss to her inner thigh. "I know what you need," and Helen whimpers at the dark promise in Ranna's voice. "Let me give it to you." Helen fights for a moment, but Ranna's deep eyes hold hers steadily; after a long, taut silence she sighs and relaxes, putting herself back in Ranna's control.

If she'd hoped Ranna would grant her release after her surrender, she's wrong: Ranna continues her painstaking attention to Helen's core with lips and tongue, motions as gentle and insistent as the water streaming over Helen's breasts and belly. Helen breathes in deep gasps, eyes wide and staring as the yearning tension builds within her, strung ever tighter by Ranna's skilful touch. Her entire body is trembling and she finally breaks down and begs, little good though she expects it to do.

"Ranna, please," she says, "please, I can't, I _can't_." She's so close to coming she's frantic with it, but the weight of Ranna's expectations keeps her hands flat against the wall.

Ranna hums in satisfaction, the sound traveling through Helen's body like a promise. "You can," she says, pressing Helen's hips back against the wall with one hand. With the other she parts Helen's labia and slides one, then two fingers inside her. Her mouth fastens on Helen's clitoris, tongue drawing broad, rough strokes in time with her fingers curling inside Helen, and Helen breaks.

The first waves shiver over her skin, making her cry out, but the burn of need within her doesn't die. Ranna doesn't let it. She presses harder, fingers crooked, and again Helen peaks and again it isn't enough. Her breath rasps in her throat and her hips writhe under Ranna's steadying arm. "More," she demands, fingers digging into the unyielding stone wall.

Ranna doesn't stop, each stroke of her fingers hitting just the right spot so hard it's nearly painful, and Helen rides the waves of pleasure until they are almost, almost too much. She clenches around Ranna's fingers and sobs as she finally finds her full release. Her tense muscles relax in a rush of heat that spreads over her entire body, rippling across her skin with the force and inevitability of a tsunami. It leaves her breathless and limp, and Ranna eases her down to sit on the floor of the shower.

She sprawls against the wall for a moment, until the indignity finally strikes her. She giggles, claps a hand over her mouth, then gives voice to full-throated laughter. The last of the day's worries drain away, leaving her feeling light and free. "Come here," she says between chuckles, and draws Ranna to her, kissing her deeply.

Ranna kneels straddling her lap, which puts them almost of a height, and Helen takes full advantage. Sliding her hands down Ranna's torso, she pulls them together, breast to breast and belly to belly. Ranna is vibrating with all the tension she has just helped Helen purge; she grabs at Helen's hair and gasps into her mouth.

Helen considers turning their game around, making Ranna beg and writhe in her turn, but dismisses the idea almost as soon as it occurs to her. She's seen Ranna vulnerable today. What she wants now is to see her completely unstrung. Shifting Ranna back slightly, she bends her head and bites at the curve of one soft, round breast. "Tell me what you want," she whispers, and slides a hand between Ranna's legs.

Ranna arches back at her gentle touch, hands slipping on her shoulders, and Helen brings her legs up to brace them both. "Gods," Ranna breathes, squirming in Helen's lap. "Just that – just there – oh!" She grinds down against Helen's fingers and Helen increases the pressure at the base of her clitoris, watching Ranna's face soften with pleasure. Of all the things she'd expected to find in Hollow Earth, this was one she never could have predicted. After a century’s experience, though, she's learned to grab any chance for a little joy, no matter how unexpected.

"Just this?" she asks, rubbing steady circles as Ranna's hips roll. "Or..."

"More, oh, yes, more," Ranna manages brokenly, and Helen hides a smile at having reduced the articulate woman to monosyllables. Ranna grabs blindly for Helen's hand, fingers gripping bruisingly as she guides it further back between her own legs. Helen twists her wrist and slips a finger inside Ranna, and Ranna settles down on it with a moan.

"Oh, yes," Helen breathes. Ranna moves against her, gloriously undone, water falling on her upturned face as in benediction. It's quite one of the most beautiful sights Helen's ever seen.

Ranna whimpers and her grip on Helen's wrist tightens. "I need – your hand, your other hand – please," she gasps.

Helen obediently slides her other hand around from Ranna's back, flattening it over her lower belly and using her thumb to draw firm circles where she already knows Ranna needs them. "Just there," she says, echoing Ranna's earlier words.

"There," Ranna repeats, rising and falling against their joined hands. "There – there, there – ah!" Her head tips back and she comes almost silently, hips jerking against Helen's fingers. Helen rides through the aftershocks, coaxing her into another, smaller climax before she pushes their hands away.

Ranna stretches lazily, then clambers off Helen, letting her ease her aching legs flat on the floor of the shower. To Helen's surprise, though, Ranna doesn't get up immediately, rather nestling into Helen's side comfortably. Ranna Seneschal, a cuddler? Helen bites her lip.

"Ah, gods," Ranna says, leaning against Helen's shoulder. "I am glad I brought you back from the dead, no matter what the Senate might have to say about the matter."

Helen laughs softly, drawing her hand through the water puddled on the floor. They've been in here for ages, yet the temperature hasn't so much as wavered; now that's a technology she'd like to bring to the surface. "Will they give you much trouble? I did save the city from certain destruction, after all."

"Cheeky," Ranna murmurs. "And yes, that means they probably won't try to put either of us to death again."

"Ah. " Helen winces. "I am sorry."

"No matter." Ranna rises and holds out her hands. "Come. Before we turn into sponges." Helen allows herself to be tugged to her feet. Ranna taps a panel on the wall and the water shuts off; Helen feels almost bereft, having become used to its weight on her skin.

They towel off, and then Helen pauses, unwilling to put her disgusting jumpsuit back on now that she's clean. Ranna follows her gaze. 

"Will you stay? I will have your clothing sent over." Ranna pauses. "And perhaps we can have dinner, and you can tell me more about the surface world? I admit my information may be somewhat out of date, and the more I know, the more I can use to convince the Senate to open communications." She smiles at Helen. "I may have somewhat of a personal interest in establishing fuller contact."

Helen returns the smile. "Even with all the inconvenience I've caused you with the Senate?"

"Well." Ranna fingers the edge of Helen's towel. "I do think we have much to share with each other." She draws back and shrugs gracefully. "That may be enough to convince them."

"In the interests of the Senate, then." Helen catches Ranna's hand and holds it. "I place myself at your disposal."

"Not yet." Ranna raises an eyebrow. "But you will."


End file.
